


And the warmth of your smile starts a burning

by thedarkestdaisy



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: 2x14 Rewrite, F/M, and tumblr, blame Loveforthestory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 15:11:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4671299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarkestdaisy/pseuds/thedarkestdaisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Based off the Revolution gifs posted by wellwhataboutme and Loveforthestory's comment:<br/>So Bass and Charlie DID talk after that moment where she rescued Connor and Bass. Oh. I would love to see that talk!</p><p>Well... They didn't talk much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the warmth of your smile starts a burning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Loveforthestory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveforthestory/gifts).



> I took the premise for episodes 2x13-14, crumpled it into a ball, aimed for the trash can, and then screamed "3 points!" as it went in.  
> This is also the second version of this story because the Computer Gods hate the ever-loving soul out of me.  
> Enjoy, lovedoves!
> 
> *Title taken from "Fool in the Rain"- LZ

He's readying himself for the hole his son is about to drive through his throat when he hears the pop of bullets over the roar of the crowd. Because honestly, getting shot in the back of the head is preferable to letting his son kill him. The kid already has mountain of trust and daddy issues; killing him would be icing on the patricidal cake. But for some reason they aren't aiming at them.

The energy of the people around them shifts into something of a panic, which is understandable because someone in the crowd has decided to take pot shots at innocent bystanders (okay, that might be stretching it- everyone watching him and his son try to kill each other can go crawl back into their shit holes and fuck themselves stupid). Connor pulls away and they both watch in befuddlement as people scurry away or drop like swatted flies into the dirt.

A voice to his left has him spinning to find her. 

And there she is. Like an angel come to save him from death. 

A sexy angel in a skin tight black dress that barely covers her thighs and a dark gray lacy bra that spills everything out the front of it _and why the fuck is she wearing that magnificent tiny outfit?_

He's still staring at her breasts and imagining what she'd look like (probably a glorious centerfold of a Playboy) if she dropped the leather jacket when she pulls out a gun (where the hell is she even able to fit it?) and shoots the lock. Only then does he look up when she cocks a brow at him. “Well? Are you coming,” she says before hurriedly turning to blend in with the crowd like it's no big deal she just saved his life.

“Give me a few minutes and I might.” He says the words to himself under his breath. But then priorities kick in and he starts shoving Connor through the gates Charlie just shot open. 

“C'mon. Lets go!” His son kicks his ass into gear and follows Charlie as she weaves her way in and out of the crowd. The entire time he keeps one hand on Connor's shoulder- not letting him out of his sight for a second. This is a second chance. He and his son live to see tomorrow together and he's not going to let one of Gould's jackboot thugs go after them for revenge. However, it would seem that chain of commands are the least of Gould's mens' concern. Seeing as he just walked over the fucker's dead body. He highly doubts it will be held against him when his boot crushes the dead mans throat for good measure.

She directs them towards the abandoned trailer they agreed to meet at if shit went south (because it always does) and they all file in one by one into the cramped quarters. Connor lights an oil lamp then moves to the back of the trailer and takes it upon himself to pull out the wooden paneling to reveal their bags and gear. He and his son dig through their belongings to find something less blood-spotted and sweat stained. A silent conversation of nods and shrugs that spans less than ten seconds assures him that even though he and his son are not in the best of places they are good for now.

“A _thank you_ would be nice, Monroe.” He hears her cocky voice from behind him in the tiny kitchenette area. He is reminded of that night in the tower and the moment she looked up at him with fear and amazement seconds after saving her life. When he turns to look back at her she has her arms folded across her chest and perhaps she probably doesn't realize the gesture pushes everything out. Or maybe she does. She's smart like that. All the Mathesons are geniuses at something. Charlie is a genius at making you do things you don't want to. Like not going on a murdering spree and instead settling for being a good guy, or as good as he'll allow himself to be.

“Thanks, Jenna Jameson. Not that I, ha- don't like the new look, but what's with the Pretty Woman get up?” It's very hard for him to say thank you and not be a dick about it. She knows this and her shoulders sag with exasperation. Then suddenly her face conjurors an icy glare reminiscent of her mother's infamous bitchface.

“I do not have the time or patience for you to explain to me what half the shit you say means. But I know about Pretty Woman. Aaron talks all the fucking time about the films I missed out on. So, instead of calling me a classy whore why don't you get that stupid look off your face and then get me my fucking clothes out of that whore trailer so I don't set this stupid fucking carnival-of-shit town on fire before we get the chance to storm Duncan's camp and collect on the debt she owes me for saving her worthless life.” 

“ _Holy shit_. Tell us how you _really_ feel.” Connor scoffs from behind him and it's all he can do to bite his lips hard enough so the laughter doesn't erupt from his mouth. He has to hand it to the Mathesons. Whenever they blew up it was always entertaining.

But she definitely needs to get her clothes back because he's not sure he'll be able to retain eye contact if she doesn't pull her dress up to cover her breasts. Or maybe that would make it shorter. He tilts his head, the image in his head whispering sweet nothings about him and his hand tonight.

“Connor, would you kindly retrieve Mini-Miles' attire from the whore trailer?” he asks over his shoulder. 

Connor snickers as he pulls his pack onto his back. "I would love to go back to the whore trailer," he moves to the door of the trailer and tips his head at them just before stepping out. "And maybe I'll remember to come back with Charlie's shit."

Charlie narrows her eyes at Connor's retreating form through one of the dust stained windows.

“You know, if he finds that chick he was banging behind the main tent last night he's probably not going to be coming back very soon.” She leans back on the only counter space next to the sink. Her arms brace her upper body and her chest pushes out in the most delicious way she has to be totally aware of. they look bigger and his hands are itching to test out the breast to hand ratio on her. 

“Good. It'll give us time to plan our next move.” He clears his throat, searching for the last vestiges of General Monroe.

“I saved her life. She owes us and she knows I'll be coming to collect. _That's_ our next move." It's really hard to focus on what she's saying when she pulls herself up to sit on the counter, careless of how the little dress rides farther and farther up her thighs. He doesn't realize he's staring at her toned legs until she snaps her fingers and his eyes jump up to meet hers. “Well, I guess the manslut apple doesn't fall far from the manslut tree. Ya know if you hurry I'm sure you can catch-”

“Hey.” He interrupts her quickly, stepping into her space and looks down with the most intimidating face he can muster when all he wants to do is trace the lines of her jaw with his tongue. “Don't call me a slut. You're the one running around New Las Vegas in a skimpy black dress with your tits hanging out.”

She looks up at him, blue eyes darkened with arousal that reflects his own. There's about one minute of a full on eye fuck before she wraps her legs around the back of his thighs to pull him closer. He braces himself with his hands on either side of her and waits for her to make a move. He's not going to be the one to do it. If any of this gets back to Miles she has to be the one who started it- not him. For deniability, of course.

“We have a limited amount of time before junior comes back so maybe you could get with the program and take off your pants.” She's suddenly shrugging off the leather jacket. He wastes no time shucking his underwear and pants down his legs. Charlie's eyebrows raise in a sign of approval when he gives himself a few soft strokes and she notes the size of him half-staff. It's a look he's received often but when she meets his eyes she instantly wipes the smirk off his face with the words, “Don't flatter yourself with whatever you're thinking right now. You haven't even done anything with it yet.”

Which leaves him in shock for the moment she takes to shove the straps of her bra and dress down her arms. His brain goes from **slightly insulted** to **I need to find out what it's like when she's screaming my name while I'm inside her** in the amount of time it takes to form his hand around one of her breasts. It's been so long since he's seen a perfect set of tits that he almost comes all over the drawers underneath the counter he's about to pound her on. She arches into his face with a sigh when he leans down to take a pebbled rosy nipple between his teeth. 

"It's not flattery if it's true," he mumbles against the soft warmth of her breast.

He grinds himself on the inside of her thigh and practically melts into her fingers when she reaches down to wrap a hand around him, pumping and stroking with just the right amount of firmness and expertise to make him question why they haven't been doing this before now. “Fuck, Monroe. I need you now. Right now.” Her voice comes out in a raspy whisper against the curls of his head. It is also a firm reminder of why this isn't a good idea. Because he's Monroe. Not Bass or even Jimmy King. It angers him a bit that this is all they can ever be. It confuses him that he wants more. 

But Charlie and Bass don't exist- at least not together. They are Charlottle Matheson and Monroe.

He roughly pulls her ass to the edge of the counter and shoves the length of her panties aside. She feels warm and wet on his fingers and he gives her no time to prepare for the invasion of his fingers as he scissors in and out of her. When she leans back she knock sover a half-empty bottle of bourbon and cracks her head on one of the overhead cabinets while letting out a string of praise and curses. The sticky wet sounds of finger-fucking her covers his snort of laughter. When he curls his middle and index fingers in her he finally hits a spot that makes her body go rigid and her grip on his cock tighten. He pulls away before she can find relief from the building pressure. Charlie snarls up at him and claws at the hem of his shirt until he relents and pulls it over his head. 

Which turns out to be a terrible idea because she digs her nails down the front of his chest and stomach leaving angry red lines to match the ones on his back. He hisses and hooks a hand under her knee to open her wider. He takes himself in one hand, gently tracing his cockhead along the lips of her slit until she is bucking like a wild horse beneath him. Everything leading up to now has been roaring flames and bone melting acid. And then she does something he doesn't expect her to do in this moment of heat and desire. The fingers of her right hand trace the sharp line of his jaw along his beard. Ever so softly, they follow an invisible line to his chin. And then she gently rubs the pad of her thumb along the swell of his bottom lip.

It's tender in a way he never thought existed between them. 

And he has to stop for a moment to lean down and taste her. She pushes up to meet him. Curious pecks on chapped lips until she stops bracing herself against the counter to wrap her arms around his neck, fully claiming him with her mouth. Her tongue licks and slips along his and all he can think of is the heady sweetness of her mouth. “Please. I want you.” It's a quiet beg against his lips. “I want more, Bass."

They are the most powerful words he has ever heard her say and he obeys them blindly. Her breath gets caught in her throat when he slowly sinks in. Instead of the gritty hate-sex (because that's a thing, really) he thought they would fit into he's blindsided when the slow steady rocking of hips makes him feel more in this moment than he has in the last ten plus years. For every thrust she meets him with he can hear a little sound emit from her mouth. A high pitched and quiet mewl. He leans down to suck on her lips, intent on swallowing her little moans of pleasure. She arches and contracts around his cock when he rubs against the spot that made her go still and tight. They study each other in between kisses- gazing at one another like real lovers do. She drags her fingers along the skin of his arms and fists her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. He likes the way she bites her lip as he gets them closer to completion. The bounce of her tits every time she pushes herself further onto him is hypnotic. He grips her hip tightly with one hand, anchoring her to him and keeping them centered on the old counter while the other thumbs little circles over the center of her collar bones. 

He can feel his orgasm wash over him like a great destructive wave. He pulls away groan, spilling along the inside of her thigh and dutifully reaches between them to punish her clit with his skilled fingers until she keens underneath him, coming with a sob. 

Everything that has been building up between them is over but he wants this moment to last, wants to live in it forever. Raking his fingers through her hair, he peppers kisses across the top of her forehead and all over her cheeks like she is something worthy and precious. He takes pride in the fact that she does not push him away or turn from him. She closes her eyes and basks in the affection he bestows upon her because it is so different than what she knows of him. Her fingers follow the paths of sweat and lines on his body carved by muscles and scars. “I wasn't expecting it to be like that.” Her voice is soft and nearly nonexistent between them. She voices his thoughts when he's afraid to speak them. 

"It was different. But it was better than what I expected, too." He admits.

A loud bout of manly laughter and the shrill of a woman’s giggle close to one of the windows breaks them apart. 

“So..?” He doesn't really know what to expect now. He just knows he doesn't want what's happening between them to end right here in this shitty trailer.

“What now?” She looks at him expectantly. Her face is screwed up like she's worried about what he's thinking or going to say.

“I honestly don't know.” He shrugs, pulling his pants back up and tucking himself inside his underwear.

“Well, it was better than decent.” Charlie snorts when he gives her a shrewd look. Then she grins up at him- dimples and everything and it makes his chest tighten in a way he hasn't felt in a long time.

“Don't even pretend like that wasn't earth shattering.” The stern finger he points down at her is easily swatted away and it makes a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth. The awkward dance of finding and putting clothes on isn't awkward with her. 

"I've always sucked at playing pretend." 

What ever is forming between them hasn't stopped. It's just been placed on the back burner to be revisited again when people aren't after their heads. She gingerly pulls the skirt of the dress down and slides back into the top of the dress before wrapping her leather jacket around her shoulders. He's just sliding into his shirt when Connor raps on the door seven times- Charlie struggles with shaking fingers to unlatch the locks to let him in and is immediately grateful when she sets eyes on her jeans, red shirt, belt, and weapons. She hollers out a thanks you as she kicks them out of the trailer to get dressed.

As he and his son lean against the trailer waiting for Charlie to get dressed he can feel his son's eyes on him. Probably trying to figure out what was happening while he was gone. He's a smart boy. He'll figure it out. When she emerges they gather their supplies and make a trail to Duncan's camp. The trio sneaks around the grounds with ease because even though a ton of people got shot and one of the biggest bookies is no more people still need to get their alcohol and (probably drug resistant by now) STD's on. New Las Vegas is the city that never sleeps, or bathes, or takes a fucking break when there's a massacre.

When they find the familiar string of people from Duncan's clan the men instantly aim their weapons on them until Duncan creeps out from the shadows the fire pits can't touch. He and Duncan openly stare at each other, waiting for the other one to break. She never does. It's one of the things he's come to loathe and admire about the woman. She bows down to no one. Which is probably why they didn't split on amicable terms. He lets out an over the top exasperated sigh and rolls his eyes at her, clearly done with her Xena Princess attitude and general bull shittery. 

“I heard Charlie had to twist your arm to help me.” Which actually does piss him off. Because it's not like he left her high and dry. They were on and off again more than light switches- now the forever and eternal off. Then again, the last minute escape Charlie had pulled off flawlessly just seconds before he was about to die was one of the most bad ass things the girl has ever done. 

“Well what did you expect?” She counters with an innocent tone. He narrows his eyes at her for a moment. Duncan is everything but innocent and she's gearing up to bitch him out or something. He's sure of it. 

“Oh, I dunno.” He shrugs his shoulders a bit and gives her the charming smile that won her over. “Maybe you'd just come on your own?” His easy tone drips into his grin. It spreads like a disease because she is smiling sweetly at him. For maybe two seconds until it drops off her face like it was never there to begin with.

“Oh!” She guffaws and saunters slowly to square off with him. “Don't flatter yourself. Your not half a good a lay as you think.”

Her words take him back to almost an hour ago where he had Charlie anchored under him and wrapped in his arms as she rocked and sobbed beneath him with release. He can not help the small laugh that comes out of his mouth as he hears Charlie and Connor shuffle uncomfortably behind him. Or the words that come out. “Well, at least I know I'm better than decent.”

Duncan frowns, unsure of the context and somewhere to his left- where he knows Charlie is standing, is a distinct choke as she tries to clear her throat. Duncan looks over his shoulder to arch a patronizing brow at Charlie just as five men come to stand behind her. They look like lap dogs waiting for Duncan's command. 

“What's all this?” They all have way more than enough weapons just to be standing around playing guard. 

“Well, the kid saved my life.” She turns to look at Charlie with something like gratefulness but probably not because he doesn't think she's capable of that emotion. Or maybe she's just unaware of the ability to feel it? “A debt is a debt. Take these guys and go kill your Patriots.” She says it like she's talking about going up against another group playing lazer tag. The importance of this is entirely lost on her, obviously. 

“Five? We could use three times as many.”

“I think the words _thank you_ , are what you're looking for." She all but hisses at him. And then she nods and steps back, like it's the end of their discussion. Just fucking typical Duncan Page.

“Right.” He hopes she can see through his super fake thankful smile. “Lets go, boys.” Charlie and Connor begin to follow him when he turns to leave. They don't get far when he suddenly stops short and looks expectantly at the men Duncan just handed to him. They are still as statues behind Duncan and she has this look on her face like she about to really piss him off and enjoy it.

“They don't take orders from you,” she explains with an odd smile that makes him roll his eyes. Seriously, Duncan just loves to stir the shit-pot. But then she looks at Charlie with a humbleness that he never thought existed in the woman. “They take orders from her. She's the one I owe.”

 **What. The. Fuck.**

_Seriously?_

There's an uncomfortable shuffle from his son next to him and they both share a look that is somewhere between **I Am So Done With This Shit** and **We Are Never Going To Talk About What Just Happened.**

“You're not bad, kid.” Duncan says, her tone somewhat approving. Her brown eyes briefly focus on him for a second. “You're way better than he deserves.” And just like that Duncan has Charlie wrapped around her damn finger and smiling up at her in admiration. God, this girl needs new role models. What a fucking joke.

“Well congratulations,” He announces while shooting a glare at Duncan. “You're the-ha, new lead singer of the village people.” It was suppose to knock Charlie off her high horse named Ego but all it does it make the two women grin at each other. And he has no fucking clue what is happening right now because he's having a hard time believing it all. But she's beaming like the proud mother of five super butch blow-holes with semi-automatics and he must have a stupid look on his face because whenever Connor looks at him the kid can't help but snicker behind his fist. 

“Well, c'mon then.” She says to the men. God, it sounds more like a suggestion and less like an order. How the hell is she going to be able to keep these men under her control? And then as she turns around to face him she flashes him a certainly gloating cat caught the canary and ripped that little flying fuck to pieces- smile. He grinds his teeth in an effort to not let his jaw drop any further. And then she shoulder-checks him with a smirk as she walks by. The men immediately follow her without question and Connor trails behind, shoulders shaking with silent laughter as he watched his father get one upped by another Matheson.

He honestly can't tell if he's turned on by that or pissed off.

 **Both.**

 

**Definitely both.**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank for reading!


End file.
